


He Sleeps

by Jezebot



Category: A-Team (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezebot/pseuds/Jezebot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Face muses over his feelings for Murdock while watching him sleep. Rated teen for a couple of little curse words and hints of slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Sleeps

**Author's Note:**

> Writing fiction in first person is rare for me but it goes to show just how hard I crush on Murdock through Faceman's eyes.

He sleeps.

Such a blatant observation can be easy to dismiss in the case of a man like Murdock. A man who's always on, boasting more energy than a schoolyard at recess. A man who shows fear as rarely as he is captured. A man with such an intense love of life, you wonder how he could take the time to sleep for fear of missing something. But like I said, the enigmatic Murdock has no fear.

I sit across from him in our client's gaudy bourgeois living room, enjoying some down time. We had pulled an all-nighter, bringing a close to our mission. Hannibal and BA are out with the client, tying up loose ends. They told us to get some rest. I'm tired but I'll sleep later. I'd rather be here than in that drafty spare bedroom. I have my newspaper. Although I'm clueless to the content of these articles because there he lies on the couch, bomber jacket flung over the back rest. He's laying so his contours are exaggerated perfectly. Professional models will be professionally sculpted into a side-lain pose like that and yet an exhausted Murdock can simply fall into it. It seems there is nothing the man can't do.

I peek around, I hope discretely, from the sports page. The blue ball cap has fallen to the floor, his hair pushed every which way across a naked forehead. It's a look that is all his own and impossibly sexy. I should be jealous given the time I spend taming this mop. His face is half obstructed by cushions but I still see that innocent smile from one who's rightly earned an interlude of restoration. The soulful brown eyes are hidden, not catching me in the act, but I can see them now, their gaze hard on me and often on a higher level than the words tumbling out beneath them. He's usually only half-committed to his act when I am the audience.

His chest rises and falls smoothly, each rise reveals part of some goofy t-shirt. I can't tell if it's a silly message or a cartoon character and I don't care. The flesh beneath is more interesting, his pale skin scored with years of memories. The scar from the bullet he took for Hannibal, modestly veiled by a layer of cheap 100% preshrunk cotton. He would take a bullet for any of us, as we would for him.

I turn the page to world news. Again, the headlines don't grab me. He stirs on occasion, vocally sighing or tucking one black and white sneaker under the other. Sometimes he snores. I never said the man was perfect, especially considering his insistence on high-waters and hi-tops. A grown man in Keds for Christ's sake. Multiple times I have suggested a tailor, offering business cards from upscale boutiques, which he reluctantly takes with that fake, placating smile then later folds into miniature airplanes that end up stuck in BA's mohawk. I don't know why I bother, I should know better. The man can't be controlled. I'm actually glad he doesn't take my fashion advice now that I think about it. It makes the occasions that don him in name brands that much more...worth the wait. I look fabulous in a suit, but put a man of his height and confidence in a Yves Saint Laurent and I practically have to sing and dance to distract the ladies. A small price to pay.

Uh oh, he's waking up. I make to duck behind my paper but I am too late. I had become so lost in redressing him that I failed to notice his eyes open. He's caught me. His droopy gaze is on me and he's smiling, knowingly.

Dammit.

I don't back down from the gaze but my face gets hot against my will. I raise an eyebrow and smile back, attempting to play it cool. "Sleep well?"

Murdock turns his head with air of satisfaction then yawns noisily, limbs stretching out in every direction. I exhale, feeling like I dodged a bullet, and go back to the news. It's all a black and white jumble.

"You pull out the funnies for me, Faceman?" Murdock says in a sleepy voice, the most cheery sleepy voice a human is capable of.

I flip a corner of the paper back and find his gaze locked on me again. He had rolled over on his back but his head is turned toward me, and of course that knowing smile has returned. I feel my face heat up again but choose not to fight it this time. There's no sense in hiding it, not from Murdock. He knows all my scams inside and out. We've been through so much together.

I softly return his smile. "Always do."


End file.
